the ballad of fair isolde + tristram

by sebastian valentine

up above us in the paintbrushed sky
where clouds + gusts of air are solid things
two stars are heavensunk in perpetuity.
gold bands and silver rings encase their heads
outstretch their limbs in cottonsoft delay
they echo through the blue in quiet unity.

their fingers do not touch, and so they touch.
touch everywhere until the two are one
touch soft skyskin + meet stareyes each nightfall.
they spin in bliss and couch in passing breezes
backs arcing to show secrets to the crescent
suspended in a love that makes the sky tall.

on earth the stars were named isolde + tristram.
their lightlimbs itching under wool and linen
their bright eyes dimmed beneath their hair + hats.
they curled in lumpy beds far from the other
and sludged through days not tinged with gold + silver
and did not dream of marriage or a lover.

but tristram + isolde were weighed like money
by mothers and by fathers who were hungry
and pennyscraped the landscape for a dowry.
so after many soirees and bad dinners
where sons + daughters were dollsmashed together
their barbie hearts were promised to each other.

a marriage ! + both houses were preparing
the weddingfeast was planned + dresses ordered
and women corseted to fit their seams.
and men tightbuttoned into shirts + doublets
and heads + faces powdered into coughing
and little boxes made to fit their dreams.

isolde + tristram did not like each other.
the angry darkhaired girl made tristram nervous
isolde thought the soft fair boy was a fop.
(she wanted to say faggot but was scolded.)
but to the moms + fathers it was nothing —
a wrinkle to be ironed into flatness
a squalling to be beaten to a stop.

and so the two were crammed in rooms together
with strict instructions to be sweet or civil
to find nice things inside the other’s face.
to manufacture love where none was welling
or if they couldn’t, at least quell the glumness
that must not mar the blush of marriageday.

so left alone the night before the wedding
fair tristram + isolde both got to drinking
(which sometimes is a shortcut to a friendship
and certainly will make a tongue more languid)
and tristram, with his top button unbuttoned,
confessed between his laughs he was a star.

isolde was quiet. tristram was afraid
— she usually would tease him til he cried.
but lifting up a face weighed by wide eyes
isolde confessed she was a star as well :
“i feel my other body in the sky.”
and both were quiet for a moment.

isolde sighed. “on this stupid muddy earth
i have to wear this unforgiving dress
that cloys my ankles and gnaws thin my waist
and doesn’t let me jump or run around
like proud men in their trousers get to do.
sometimes i want a vest and hose instead.”

tristram addressed the ground. “hose also cloys.
i think that if my starbody wore clothes
that it would much prefer the touch of lace
the lightness of a skirt around my legs —
i mean its legs — that is — i mean to say
sometimes i wish that i could wear a dress.”

the two young stars were quiet once again.
but all the drink made both of them be brave
and reach to touch the cloth the other wore
and look into the eyes that mirrored wish
for sky and air and garments that hugged right
and love that tucks like wavequilt over shore.

isolde was first to speak. “should — if you want —
that’s only if you want to — we could trade.”
tristram’s eyes huge. “just so we can see —”
isolde unlacing stays. “yes, just to see —”
gown + fine shoes upon the floor. “to see —”
“to see —” helping with buttons + trick sleeves.

it took a moment more to tie + fold
and unstick hair from collars + damp cheeks
but once the gown + shirt were hanging straight
and the initial strangeness savored sweet
fair tristram + isolde raised up their heads
and saw the other joyous + complete.

how clever, the dark hair against his vest !
how lovely, the pink shoulders lying bare !
how comely, the throat plunging down to lace !
how dashing — shoulders filling out a blouse !
how beautiful each newly shining face !
how lucky they both felt to see the sight !

isolde + tristram held each other’s eyes
rejoicing in the golden star inside
and feeling silver spasms in their hearts
reached trembled hands to touch the soft skyskin
and bring the nervous lips to meet + sigh
and learn that they could never be apart.

it was a small eternity of bliss
freckled with adorations murmured sweet
and after what had seemed the hundredth kiss
their names had gotten kind of turned around
so that the funnysmiling darkhaired boy
was tristram, and isolde the maiden fair.

but after a sad breath, isolde drew back
with fear stomped on her face. “i know inside
if i were to go wake my mom + dad
and show them my new gown + happiness
they wouldn’t understand, and would be scared
and probably would beat me til i died.”

and tristram frowned. “i think that you are right
and knowing how my parents fret + scream
i could not come before them looking so
and dash to dust their eldestdaughterdream.
i think the only thing is to elope
and find a place that’s young + made of hope.”

isolde still scared. “but how, and what such place —
and what horse — sleep where —” tristram held her hand.
“i’ll make arrangements while you pack our bag
— take only what we need, and don’t be seen
and meet me in an hour, and be swift
and, oh, before you go give me a kiss —”

the lovers parted, panting, flashingeyed,
isolde upending dressers and hopechests
and cramming in what worldly things she loved,
and tristram sprinting skirtless at longlast
to stables dark + rich with steeds to steal
and cutting loose the fastest one to ride.

an hour like a breath. the two, rejoined,
to kiss + cling as if apart a year
then break to boost isolde + climb astride
and urge the beast to quickness with sharp heel
— isolde seized at his waist — and tristram cheered —
their village growing smaller at their backs —

but tristram’s yell and the breakbeat of hooves
woke up the moms + dads they left behind
and thinking first, of course, to check their beds
in parentpanic donning robes + shoes
the fathers jumped on horses of their own
and gave chase, while the mothers shook their heads.

but tristram + isolde’s horse was so fleet
she soon began to gallop up the sky
with stairs of cloud newforming at her feet
that blew away as soon as she had passed.
the fathers slowed to stopping in defeat —
their eldestgirl and onlyson were gone.

isolde + tristram rode until the sun
poked bedhead out from cloudcover and let
the light shine from a merry roundgold face.
and suddenly, they saw clear as a dream
a castle made of clouds + rain + light
with doors flung wide for visitors like them.

so tristram tied the noble horse outside
and led isolde to come before the prince
who granted them a bed to lay their heads
and said that they would not want for a thing
as long as they would sit with him to eat
and tell how they had found him in the sky.

this is that story — rather much rewrote
for telling it they both were very drunk
and anyway the silly little prince
fancied himself a poet. so isolde
and tristram now both live up very high
and at night watch their starselves in the sky.